And spin a verse or twa o’ rhyme,
In hamely, westlin jingle.
While frosty winds blaw in the drift,
Ben to the chimla lug,
I grudge a wee the Great-folk’s gift,
That live sae bien an’ snug:
I tent less, and want less
Their roomy fire-side;
But hanker and canker,
To see their cursèd pride.